Now, when she walked through the slush on the uneven sidewalks of Owl Island, she compared them to the cracked sidewalks of New Orleans, with inset metal circles that had symbols carved into them.

Now, when she saw lights coming from the windows of houses she’d walked past a million times, she thought of the doors of restaurants in New Orleans, thrown open to the warmth of the day; of upper balconies spilling fragrant bougainvillea and jasmine and music into the night; of secret gardens and sagging porches and a purple sky over a brown-gray river that never stopped moving.

When she got to number 103 Mockingbird Lane, her heart was in her throat. Familiar silver-and-blue tinsel bedecked the trees outside her parents’ house, and a blue foil star garland outlined the front door. On the windows were the peel-and-stick decals of dreidels, menorahs, and Stars of David that her father had brought home years ago so she and her sisters could decorate—and, more importantly, redecorate—as many times as they wanted.

That year, she and Adelaide had started a window decal war by sneaking out of their room late at night and collecting the decals from the whole house to plaster their bedroom windows. It had escalated when they woke two mornings later to find that all their light bulbs and mirrors had been removed—a power move when you were fourteen and had unpredictable hair.

It was only when Greta let herself inside and heard singing that she realized Chanukah had begun.

She walked into the dining room and gave an awkward wave. “Uh, hey.”

Her mother jumped up. “You came home! Oh, honey, I knew you wouldn’t miss Chanukah. Didn’t I tell you?” she said over her shoulder to the table. Greta’s shoulders tightened. “Oh, we’ve missed you so much.” She hugged Greta and brushed her hair back. “You’re tan!”

“Yeah, it’s summer in New Orleans. Well, I mean, it’s still winter, but their winter is warm like our summer. So it’s sunny. You know.”

“Oh my gosh, really? Turns out we’ve actually heard of seasons, even here in provincial Maine,” Sadie simpered. Tillie shot Sadie a quelling look.

Greta began to explain that she’d misspoken and tried to correct herself, and why did Sadie always have to be such a rude asshole about everything? Then she paused. That was what the old Greta would have done.

The new Greta didn’t need to explain because she hadn’t done anything wrong. Sadie had interpreted her ungenerously, and that wasn’t her problem.

So she moved on.

“Hey, I’m really happy to see you all. Sorry to show up in the middle of Chanukah without calling. But I needed to talk to you.” She looked at Sadie. “And I’d really appreciate if you’d let me say what I need to say before you respond.”